


Evil Ways

by Eyrmia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universes, Antichrist, Family Feels, Fix-It, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Finale, Post-Season/Series 12, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 19:02:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10950792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eyrmia/pseuds/Eyrmia
Summary: This work is discontinued.Sam and Dean deal with the aftermath of the nephilim's birth. Despite their pain, they must carry on, because the fate of the ones they love and even those they don't know rests on their shoulders.Basically a post-S12 fic…My version of a S13 because I can't wait four months for my baby (*cough* Crowley *cough*) to come back (if he ever does--I'm still in denial). Obviously, spoiler warning for the S12 finale.Planning to bring back characters like Gabe, Meg, and maybe Charlie, among others. ;)





	Evil Ways

Dean’s limbs felt like lead. His lidded eyes focused on some point in the distance, unseeing, unfeeling. He’d gathered Cass’s coat in his hands, gently rubbing his thumbs over the rough fabric, picking at the seams. His mind circled aimlessly, retracing the same steps, coming to the same conclusions, but refusing to accept them.

Cass and Crowley were––

No.

But––

_No._

He clenched his teeth and sucked a sob back into his chest. If he broke now, he would never be fixed. His eyes burned and he jammed his palms onto them, rubbing furiously. He had to get himself together, for Sam.

Where _was_ Sam?

A pained cry echoed from a window in the house. Dean leapt to his feet, heart hammering painfully into his chest. He couldn’t lose Sammy. Not now.

~

Sam stood frozen to his spot, barely breathing. The room was chilly, but he knew it was summer outside. The nephilim’s golden eyes bored steadily into his own. They were the only things visible in the darkness. The rest of the man––boy?––was swathed in shadow.

“Is that my name? Jack?” The boy––man?––pointed to the letters on the wall. His voice was soft.

Sam nodded slowly. “Yeah. Your mom picked it.”

Jack tilted his head, eyes narrowing in thought. Then he refocused on Sam.

“And who are you?” His voice deepened and became raspy, slithering, if that adjective could be attributed to a voice.

Sam shivered. Belatedly, he realized he didn’t have a gun on him. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’m Sam Winchester. My brother, Dean, is outside. He…We lost some people that we cared about.”

Jack glanced at the wall with his name on it, eyes softening. “I think I did too.” He was silent for a moment, then extended his pale hand. “May I touch?”

Sam’s brow furrowed. Alarm shot up his spine. “Why?”

“I…don’t know. It feels like something I’m supposed to do.”

Sam stared at the hand for a moment, contemplating, then finally relented and grasped it. He reveled in its warmth, until it became _too_ warm. He screamed and yanked his burnt hand back, cradling it against his chest. Jack stumbled away, lips parted and eyes wide as he stared at Sam’s smoking fingers. A second later, Dean barged into the room and trained his gun on the nephilim.

“Dean, wait!” Sam grabbed Dean’s arm and pulled it down, the gun with it. “He didn’t mean to!”

Dean’s lip curled up in a snarl, and the two of them struggled for the gun. Finally, Sam knocked it out of his hands and pushed him against the wall.

“It’s okay, Dean! He’s okay.” Sam met his brother’s gaze. Dean rolled his eyes and shoved Sam away. He walked over to his gun and picked it up, shoving it into his waistband before Sam could protest. Then he grabbed Sam’s wrist and held it up, inspecting the damage to his flesh.

“Let’s go clean this up.” His voice was gruffer than usual. “And tell the kid to put some damn clothes on.”

~

He awoke to nothing. No light, no heat––nothing. Of course, if there was no heat, it meant that it was cold. Extremely. It wormed its way through his body, slinking into every bone and settling into his blood like a witch’s spell.

_Is this where we go?_

The silence was nearly deafening, pressing in on him from all sides, suffocating him even though he didn’t need air. Lips brushed against his ear.

“Welcome home.”

He didn’t feel welcome at all. Or home.

Hands clawed at his clothes, dragging him through the nothingness. They hissed and growled at him, but he still couldn’t see anything.

Then he found himself blinded and bound. But it was the good kind of blind, if there was one. It’s the one caused by light, letting you know you’re not in the dark anymore.

His vision slowly returned, and he realized that he was in a cell of sorts, wrists cuffed and chained to the wall above him. The room wasn’t particularly memorable, though he noted that it didn’t have a door.

Then a tall, door-shaped hole appeared in the wall. A glowing figure stepped through the portal, which then disappeared. The face of the figure––a woman––was so familiar, but he couldn’t place it. She had long, dark brown hair and a round face. Her black eyes narrowed upon seeing him. When she spoke, her voice was a drawl. He immediately found it boring.

“Your memories will come back soon. Don’t worry.” The corner of her lip turned up in a smirk. “You and I have some catching up to do.”

He raised his eyebrows. The memories were already beginning to trickle back, and he could finally put a name to a face. He could also put feelings to that face, like his absolute hatred of it.

“Before you chop me into a million little pieces, mind telling me the name of this place?”

Her shoulders bounced in a laugh and she grinned wickedly, showing off sharp, white teeth. Her eyes took on a more frenzied look, and he could tell that her true form was beginning to shine through. “Of course I will. Welcome to the Empty, Crowley.”

~

Jack had never felt grass before. Then again, he’d never felt much of anything before. He tugged at his shirt, hanging loosely on his frame. The pants barely stayed up, even with a belt. Shoes were a no-go, but he didn’t mind. The grass felt nice––cool and springy under his toes. Despite everything that had happened in the past few hours, the night was peaceful. He could hear strange buzzing noises. The word _locust_ appeared in his mind, and he used it.

Then he saw the angel. His guardian angel. Castiel.

Castiel’s broken body rested on the grass, also peaceful but for the bloodstain on its chest. Jack crouched beside it and gently stroked the forehead. He paused and looked over his shoulder. The Winchester brothers were still in the house, fixing Sam’s hand. A twinge of guilt shot through him at that, but he shrugged it off.

He had time.

He still wasn’t quite sure of his powers. They kind of just…manifested. But he concentrated and forced his power into the dead angel.

Then he felt it: the glimmer of life. It was faint, not yet strong enough to sustain a soul––or in the angel’s case, grace––but life nonetheless. Jack smiled. He knew the Winchesters would want to burn the body, but he could bend them to his will. He would hide Castiel until the angel had recovered his strength. Then they would pursue his father together.

Something cold and wet fell on his head. He looked up, getting an eyeful of water for his trouble. _Rain._ The wetness was nice, water running in rivulets down his back and through his blonde hair. It fell on Castiel too, washing away the blood.

Jack decided he liked the rain.

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's short, but I wanted to get this out. It's rough and hasn't been beta'd, but I think it works for now. I may go back and edit it later.


End file.
